


The Glue

by crowdedangels



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 09:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowdedangels/pseuds/crowdedangels
Summary: Flynn and Lucy find themselves separated from the team and take shelter. She discovers he has more faith in her than she possibly has in herself.





	The Glue

Flynn closed the door behind them, slid the thick metal lock into place and tucked a spindle chair under the handle, just in case. “We'll be fine here tonight and head back into town at first light.” He twitched the greying lace covering the windows and looked back down the dirt lane.

“Lucky you boosted that wallet at the market,” Lucy smiled, placing the lantern on the shelf near the bed and removing her shoes.

They had made a run for it, Wyatt and Rufus begrudgingly going in another direction when the shooting had started. Flynn and Wyatt had run out of bullets quickly and saw retreat as their only option. Not so bad if you head in the direction of the lifeboat or buildings, but Flynn and Lucy had gone into the treeline, tackling through hours of dense forest before they found the other side and a small inn.

The money Flynn had stolen had bought them a night in a small outbuilding to the back and few slices of thick ham wrapped in parchment. Flynn put the food on the rickety table, let the lace fall back into place over the window and crossed his arms as he sat on the edge of the table. “It didn't seem like they took American Express.”

The room was small; bed (not particularly comfortable looking), wash basin and the dining table. There was a bucket to the corner that he suspected they would ignore.

She had her hands on her hips, looking down to the bed a little perplexed.

“You get some rest.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“I'm fine.”

She highly doubted that and the look on her face told him so. She swung the light cape from her shoulders to reveal a deep scratch marking her skin. “You're bleeding.”

She looked over her shoulder and pulled on the skin, “Just a scratch. Had worse.”

He stepped over and swooped her hair around her neck, away from the wound. There didn't seem to be any debris in the gash but he sighed unhappily at the sight.

His breath washed over the bare skin around her shoulders, the wide scoop of the dress neckline. He caught her eyes close, a shuddered inhale.

“Can you, er, get the ties, please? I don't fancy sleeping in this contraption.”

He swallowed, willed his body to calm at the prospect of what she had asked him to do. He looked down to the neat little bow keeping the dark corset to her body. It emphasized her figure and bosom in ways he had tried to ignore. Really _tried._

“Flynn?” her voice was barely above a whisper, her dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she twisted to look at him.

He pulled on the lace toggles, the ribbon sliding free. He tugged on a few of the loops further up, bringing Lucy back into his chest. He slid his hands around her waist and gripped the base of the front, pushing the sides until the hook-and-eye fastenings came loose. He worked them all, Lucy's hands sliding down his arms to grip his wrists, encouraging him on the route. He pulled the corset away and tossed it behind him. 

Lucy turned in his arms, cupped his face between her hands and brought his lips down to hers. It was passionate, promising and... awkward. She broke away to step up onto the bed and recapture his lips. With the extra few inches from the bed she was taller than him, his neck now wrenched upwards in its pursuit of hers. He splayed his hands across her back, holding her to him as his tongue was bade entrance. 

Lucy's fingers scraped at his scalp, twisting his head to where she wanted him before searing a path down his back to pull his shirt from his trousers and over his head. He took the opportunity to move his lips to her jaw, her neck, her collar bone. His name escaped on a moan that stopped him in his tracks, his forehead falling to her breast while he asked, “Lucy... are you sure?”

She almost had to ask him to repeat, his voice hoarse and accent even thicker. She threaded her fingers back into his hair and encouraged him to look up to her, his eyes even darker than she remembered. 

She could have found words, possibly remembered a quote they would both know to convey how very sure she was, but instead decided to curl her fingers into the shift dress and heft it over her head. 

“They're, um...” he swallowed, “not time-appropriate, y'know...”

She looked down to the plain, white (underwired) underwear – she really missed her lingerie drawer sometimes - and asked, “Are you complaining?”

“God no,” and with that he curled his hands around her thighs and lifted her to his waist. She giggled as her ankles locked together at the base of his back and arms wrapped around his neck, smiling into their kiss. He turned them so he could press her against the wall, one hand braced against the wooden slats and the other tracing a path along her skin.

He cupped her breast through the thin material, his mouth biting, soothing, suckling on her collarbone. She writhed within his grasp, small encouraging sounds vibrating through her throat to his lips, escaping her mouth as she gripped his hair, dragged her nails across his back. 

Her bra was quickly discarded and he toed off his boots, laughing with her as she was jostled in his haste. He attached his lips to her breast while she pulled on the drawstring of his pants, pushing them down his hips. 

He began laving attention to her other breast, his free hand curled around her knee and smoothing up her thigh. 

“Flynn,” she was pushing him away, gently pressing into his shoulder, “ _Flynn,_ let me down.”

He did as told, placing her back on the ground and stepping back. His hair was sticking out in all direction, his eyes dark and confused, his shoulders low and defeated. 

Lucy quickly shimmied out of her underwear and grinned, “Okay, you can pick me back up again.”

He growled as he leapt forward, “Good God, woman!” 

She yelped as she was firmly placed back at his waist, his lips back on hers with a vehemence and his hand between them to guide his penis to her entrance. Her bottom lip danced across his, her breathy moan dancing across his mouth as he slowly entered her. 

She grasped tightly to his waist, her nails digging into his skin as her body reacted to him. He gave her the time she needed until,  _God_ , he needed to move again. “ _Lucy_ ...”

She nodded, her eyes closed and lips blindly seeking out his. He kissed her, tongue sliding against hers as he pulled out and back in, building a slow rhythm until she started making that noise.

A noise he knew that he would hearing every time he closed his eyes, would be chasing the itch to hear her make again, that made his heart swell and hips stutter. 

The uncontrolled thrust had him bury further within her body, deeper than he had hit previously and her arms wrapped tighter around his neck so there was no gap between them. Connected from lips to groin, he began to thrust again; deeper, harder, quicker. Until his head was on her shoulder and she was forced to eek out words. “Fl-Flynn, splinters. Can we- _ah-_ the bed.  _Garcia._ ”

He wrapped his arms around her and spun them again, lowering her to the bed and crowding over her. She unlocked her ankles and pushed at him until she was straddling his hips and he was on his back. “Who's gentle now?” she sassed, leaning back to grasp his thigh before she began to move again. 

Flynn's feet were flat on the floor, allowing his thrusts to land deeper, meeting Lucy's movements and sending them both closer and closer to completion. Her name was growled out, his voice deeper than she had ever heard. She leant forward, crushing her breasts to his chest and recapturing his lips as he fed his hand down to where they joined. His fingers circled and tweaked at her clit until her breathing became pants punctuated with moans, squeaks, half-words. 

It was his turn to groan when her internal muscles began to clench him. She peppered his chest with kisses when she could, circled her tongue around his nipples until she sat up right, her eyes closed and head thrown back. 

“Lucy...” it was half a groan and half a warning because he was so damn close and if she kept doing that clenching thing and making that noise-

His name. That's what she said. His first name, high pitched then a low growl, her body curving in on itself and then stretching back. He continued his thrusts before he too fell over the edge, his body arching and falling back to the bed with Lucy's head on his shoulder. 

They were panting, a layer of sweat covering each of their bodies as they tried to lower their heart rates. She rolled off him, her head and splayed hand across his chest.

“Are you okay?”

He rested her chin on her hand and looked up to him. “I am. Are you?”

“Never better,” he grinned infectiously. Smoothing a hand over her shoulder, he asked, “Did you really get splinters?”

“Ow! Apparently yes!” She laughed, sitting up and turning her back to him. He grabbed the lantern from the side and swooped it across the creamy expanse of her back. Sure enough, a good five to ten splinters. 

He dug around for his trousers and pulled a small tube from his pocket. She felt a few drops of the liquid touch her skin and jerked away, “What are-”

“Superglue,” he muttered around the tube's cap in his teeth. He spoke clearer next, “It'll dry and pull the splinter out.”

She was impressed and amused, “Okay,  _MacGyver_ .”

She could hear the smile in his voice as he applied a few more spots. “I always carry it. The Army realised in the 1970s that it could be used to hold wounds until they got to a hospital.”

“They used it in the Vietnam War actually, but it was only patented for medical use in the – ow – 1990s.”

“Is there anything you don't know?”

She looked over her shoulder to him, a “ _Yes,_ ” snarked in response. She looked back, “I read a lot. Or... _read._ I don't exactly get the opportunity to any more.”

He recapped the glue and put it back into his pocket, edged closed to her and placed a kiss onto her shoulder. “Favourite author?”

“Anne Bronte. And John Steinbeck. I prefer biographies though. You?”

“You.”

“Ha. Ha. That journal doesn't count.”

“Maybe not, but your books on Abraham Lincoln do. I read them before...” his words melted away. 

She took a beat before continuing, “Oh God, they're all trash now. We changed it all.”

Flynn tapped at the glue dots on her back before peeling the dry dots away. “They're not trash.”

“Lincoln was Rittenhouse.”

He peeled more dots away, “You didn't know that. Ninety-nine percent of the world doesn't know about Rittenhouse.” That didn't seem to allay her concerns. He peeled away the last of the splinters, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back into his chest, laying his chin onto her shoulder. “We will stop Rittenhouse.”

“You sound so confident.”

“I am.”

“How?” she smoothed her hands across his arms, watching the light from the lantern cast their flickering shadow against the wall. 

“Because we have you; the smartest and most compassionate, resilient and determined woman I have ever met. And Rufus and Jiya, the brilliant nerds. Agent Christopher who will do anything. Connor Mason, who cares more than he lets on. And Wyatt, who's an okay shot.”

Her shoulders jerked in a soundless chuckle as she swatted at his arm. 

“I mean it. If anyone can do this, we can. _You_ can.”

She heaved a sigh but he thought she might have taken it on board. She turned to look at him as best she could, bringing her hand up to his cheek to turn him closer to her lips. 

“C'mon, food then sleep. We have a long trek in the morning.” He got up, grabbed the ham slices from the table, twitched at the lace over the window again and settled back onto bed. They each took a slice and touched them as clinking champagne glasses. 

 

 


End file.
